


Running

by poisonlily5394



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: 2x36, Angst, F/F, post-season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonlily5394/pseuds/poisonlily5394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura's inner monologue during the second half of 2x36. A little angsty. Currently a one-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic. Please leave in the comments below how I did, thanks in advance! Also, thank you to my wonderful and beautiful beta, entropy118.

 

 

We’re running.

I feel her hand tighten around my own, pulling me down into the darkness. Lights flash, giving me brief glimpses of yellow on the dirt walls. My heart is pounding out of my chest; it combines with the sound of Vordenberg’s bones breaking, echoing in my ears. My mind is running in a thousand different directions, and I just want to stop. I slow down, dragging my feet along the hard ground.

I’m weightless. I can feel Carmilla’s hands at my back, holding me close to her. My eyes close, shying away from the sight of that ghastly collar around her neck. My body bounces with hers, stumbling along. A brief flash of red reminds me LaFontaine is here — but where is Perry? JP? All the others that I lost? Oh god,  _Danny_.

I’m falling again. The scent of LaFontaine’s detergent brings my mind back into focus. I’m on the floor, staring at a wall, with no idea how I got there. Carmilla’s cold hand is keeping me in place when I feel like I’m flying apart. I nudge my face into LaFontaine’s shoulder as I hear their voice crack. They’re crying, and I’m broken. What are we going to do now? 

"I really don't know."

Carmilla is answering my thoughts now, I suppose, and I turn to her despondent tone, feeling my heart catch at the look in her eyes. She looks as broken as she did when Mattie...Oh god, Mattie. 

Grey swirls in front of my eyes, the sound of Carmilla screaming. Danny's blood dripping on my hands.  

I spiral down, down...

I'm being dragged back up to my feet. I can feel her warm breath on my neck as she leans in to pull off my jacket and blood-stained shirt. She rips her own shirt and dabs at the cuts on my neck, baring her teeth. I can't hear more than soft, muffled tones and the occasional "cupcake". I look down, noticing the collar is gone, having left in its wake scattered bruises, scars, and scrapes. I want to kiss them, heal them with my touch, but I know now that my touch destroys.  

She tosses me a shirt, and mechanically I put it on. It smells better than dust and death, but I can't get that stench out of my nose and mouth. She grabs my hand again, dragging me to another chamber-like room. Her hands push me down to sit near a lamp with an exposed bulb. I look to the blank floor, my eyes flooding with thoughts of the horrors I've created. A blanket is pulled around my shoulders, and I grab at it, pulling it closer. 

I just want to feel warm again.  _Alive_ again.  

LaF is puling wires from the wall, sputtering at sparks and a camera that —based on the dust—is at least twenty years old. I want to speak, but my throat clogs with tears. I feel like I am underwater, a thousand leagues down. LaF does a halfhearted fist pump before running from the scene muttering something about research.

I feel warmth at my side, the scent of leather joining the scent of old, musty books. Carmilla is back, and her voice is floating down to me on the ocean floor. She bumps against me, and I break. I just need her to stop. I don’t deserve this kindness. 

I lost us everything.

Suddenly my words are spilling from a vein near my heart, breaking and slow, with long glances into her eyes—eyes that hold the weight of the world. I want to tell her how sorry I am, and she pulls me into her arms instead. I feel like I can breathe easy for the first time since…well, I can’t remember when.

She tilts my head up with her gentle hands. Her soft smile, when I finally meet her eyes, makes me want to breathe again. She holds my gaze before opening up a vein herself. 

“You know, saving the world would be a whole lot easier if you could just remain innocent. If your conscience was always clear and you never made mistakes. But a moment of forgetting to care isn’t the same as a lifetime of apathy.” 

Her hands in my hair stroking my face are keeping me in the present, hanging off every word.

“Okay and yes, you…you made a mess, but Vordenberg, and Mattie and I, we all had…we all had a hand in this, and you didn’t do it alone.”

I drop my head, knowing she is greatly underestimating the term “mess”. Useless, everything I did was useless. Her voice broke after she said her sister’s name; what I wouldn’t do to take that mistake back. How does Carm do it? How can she still feel compassion for me, trying to shift the blame not onto others, but herself as well? And for what—to save me pain? To help me? I hold her eyes with mine again, before dropping them to her lips, wanting to have her as close as I could. Her hand is at my neck, and I don’t want her to let go. I take a breath, and then—

“I might not always like the choices you make, or the way things turned out, but I think it would be infinitely more tragic if you let that stop you from trying. If you let that turn you into me.” 

But how do I even try anymore? Everything I tried hurt people—hurt Carm, killed Danny, killed Mattie, killed Vordenberg. Their blood is on my hands. And it seems like no matter how hard I did try, something was always pushing me back. 

My heart clenches again at how she plays with my hand while discussing her mother and the games she used to play with her. I break again at the tragedies that she’s undergone, that I haven’t even been a part of. But it gets me thinking again. 

The Dean, _alive_. 

Holy hell.

Panic is creeping up my throat again.

We’re not done running.


End file.
